


Champagne Corks and Orange Peels

by Lover_of_all_things_Pat



Series: Bubbly Orange [Verse] [4]
Category: All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling
Genre: 30 years of Jericho, BTE references, Bubbly Orange, C-Real, Charades, Chris and Cassidy's lovechild, Chuck judges dick sizes, Consumption, Costumes, Dick Jokes, Favorite uncle, Forced Vomiting, Goat, Handjob with feelings, JERICHO IS PAPA BEAR, Jericobra, M/M, Milk Challenge, Multi, Nurse Jericho, Oneshot Series, Orange Cassidy is a sponge, Other, Party Games, Requests, Rhodes Halloween party, SAMMY/CARROT, Selfies, Sick Orange Cassidy, Silver milks Pres10, Truth or Dare, Unsatisfying Sex, WAP, carousel, early finish, gay wrestlers, non sexy first time, prompts, slumber party, they sing Judas while Orange Cassidy strips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26546317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lover_of_all_things_Pat/pseuds/Lover_of_all_things_Pat
Summary: Taking OneShot requests for BUBBLY ORANGE VERSE!Chapter/scene suggestions, prompts, questions, etc!Chris Jericho x Orange Cassidy.Jake Hager x Sammy Guevara.Jon Moxley x Darby AllinCody Rhodes x Brandi RhodesBrandi Rhodes x Red VelvetCody Rhodes x Fuego del SolOther wrestler appearances.
Relationships: Brandi Rhodes/Cody Rhodes, Brandi Rhodes/Red Velvet, Chris Jericho/Orange Cassidy, Cody Rhodes/Fuego del Sol, Jake Hager/Sammy Guevara, Jon Moxley/Darby Allin
Series: Bubbly Orange [Verse] [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927756
Comments: 67
Kudos: 45





	1. BRING IT ON!

FIRST CHAPTER IS NOT AN ACTUAL CHAPTER.

This is where I dump extra content for the verse.

You can decide whether or not to view this as verse-canon.

PLEASE COMMENT TO SUBMIT REQUESTS, QUESTIONS, PROMPTS, ART IDEAS, ETC...Keep it in the realms of the Bubbly Orange Verse!

(Bubbly Orange and Struggle.)

Awkward, funny, a little sexy tease? Will Chris ever overcome his hangups and drop Cassidy a good bone?

Sammy and Jake- for the WIN!

Maybe Chris being his big ol' Papa Bear self.

Moxley x Darby newly added!

GIVE ME IDEAS. LETS HAVE A GOOD TIME! I really wanna push the limits here and see what you guys have in mind.

PLEASE AND THANK YOU! 

-also, it's cracking me up that this has kudos and doesn't even have an official chapter yet! KEEP IT COMING! 

And seriously... give me prompts and let's get this Slice of Life thing started.

Looking for more content?

Additional installment to the verse is underway. Will feature Darby Allin among others and be a fairly huge reveal for a key plot point in Struggle. I'm still hashing out details for it.


	2. Eating Vegetables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy eats healthy. Jake gets an eyeful.  
> -or... Sammy x Carrot.  
> -or... The weird one that no one asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awkward anal ahead.  
> No flames. You have been warned.

It's been a good night, perhaps too good. He's a little wound up and a lot excited, and perhaps that's why he finds himself in Hager's bathroom, alone with the door shut, a carrot at the ready and an open jar of petroleum jelly sitting on the sink.

It's awkward and embarrassing more than anything. He can hardly believe that this is an event taking place, that he is slotting lubed fingers between his crack and swiping at his tight little hole. He takes a breath and tells himself to just do it, not to think about it too hard. The mechanics are simple enough; it's the mental wall that's blocking him. He tries to shut his brain down and just act. It's hard to do. He doesn't quite manage to stop his brain from being a dickish cockblocker and a homophobe, but he does manage to slip his finger in there.

It's weird, and a little dry because he'd underestimated how much jelly to use. So, he makes a note to just glob it down there rather generously. He works himself open, the jelly warms against his velvety walls, and as he does, it's not... good. Not sexy. Not erotic in any way. It's just... weird and uncomfortable. He sinks the digit in all the way and upon withdraw, he sort of gets it. Not pleasure or excitement, but he feels the slow drag inside, and there's a warm tight heat on his finger that he supposes will feel good around a dick. He works is finger a little, catches on the rim a few times and is surprised to find that it had loosened up to the point where he can swirl his finger around and there's room to spare.

More jelly, and the second finger slides in smoothly next to the first. It still doesn't hurt. It's just a little fuller.

He hikes his leg up, rests his foot on the edge of the tub and is granted a more workable access point. His fingers dip and scissor and twist and just barely manage to graze against a hard rounded thing, and- oh...

_Oh. Uhhh... That's a thing.  
_

He rubs at it again, and there's this nice little jolt that gives him butterflies in his stomach and has his cock stirring.

If that's what he's working with, he can give it an honest try. He's already got his foot in the door. Might as well go all the way.

He draws his hand from his ass, strips the carrot a few times with the jelly and guides it- tries both between his legs and behind his back, to see which angle works better- he ends up going around his back and arching into it as the lubed vegetable finds its mark and slips inside.

It's not as nice as his fingers. It's a little cold and entirely too stiff and firm to the point of being uncomfortable. But he gives it a go, drags it in and out a few times, tries different depths and paces and angles- and manages to bump it into that delicious bundle of nerves.

His head drops back and his mouth falls open- and it's _good_. He keeps thrusting the carrot, trying to keep the same angle. It's hit-and-miss, but it's not bad. His hips get in onto it, bucking forward and arching back into the sensation. His belly pools with heat and his dick is reddening and saluting.

Everything is going decidedly good for his first time ass-fucking himself on a vegetable... until two things happen in close proximity.

One, he recalls the advice coming from Orange Cassidy, which makes him wonder if the other man had done the same thing at some point. Which is awkward as hell.

Two, he forgot to lock the door, and it opens up to allow Hager an rather unique view.

Sammy's carrot-fucked ass is facing the door, his leg is hiked up over the rim of the tub, his hands are covered in substitute lube, and his expression goes from blissed-out to horrifically embarrassed in an instant.

It gets worse when his slick hand flexes and withdraws in order to deny what he was doing. His hands come up in a sign of surrender, to claim innocence, but the carrot remains lodged in him for... _one... two... three_... before it slips and falls to the linoleum floor with a thud... and a roll.

_Oh, fuck, Jesus... it rolled and left a snail-trail of lube._

It's incriminating and embarrassing, and Sammy could almost die in that moment with how horrible he feels.

Jake says nothing.

Sammy hopes he just turns and leaves and never mentions it. Ever.

He doesn't leave.

Jake shifts and looks uncomfortable at first, then thoughtful. "This, uh... This does it for you?" He doesn't wait for a response before he steps further in, shuts the door, closes the toilet lid and takes a seat. "Don't let me stop you. Vegetables are good for you." He cracks a smirk that morphs into a dirty grin when he adds: "Eat up."

That little grin seems to be just the ice breaker Sammy had been waiting for because he comes out of his shock, drops his foot from the tub, and slips into Jake's lap. Those pants are surely ruined from remnants of lube on Sammy's ass, but the Spanish God doesn't care. He grinds his hips and his dick catches friction on Jake's shirt. "You gonna help, or just sit there and look pretty?"

Jake chuckles. He's never been the pretty one in a relationship. He goes in for a kiss and it's incredible how un-awkward it is.

Because this is his Samcub.

And that's good enough to get him going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was re-reading Bubbly Orange and Struggle for inspiration. I hit the part where Orange tells Sammy to get a carrot. This idea wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> So, here you go. I'll bang out some Orange x Chris next!
> 
> Also- when the Darby spinoff is officially posted, don't forget that requests for them are fair game too.


	3. Doctor in the House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris x Orange-  
> Sick Orange prompt for @Citrus.

It had been an off day from the start. Chris got up mid-afternoon, which was perfectly acceptable since he and Orange hadn't gotten to bed until almost 5am. He wasn't as well rested as he could have been, but it was bearable. No, what made it an off day was deciding to have a quick drink before hitting the pool. He gets as far as the kitchen and has to stop because, Orange is there at the table-

Orange doesn't typically sit at the table unless he's eating, and even then, half the time he opts to stand or lean against something. Cassidy isn't eating; he's got his arms crossed on the tabletop and is using them as a pillow.

This alone wouldn't be too alarming. Orange has been known to sleep in odd ways when a tired spell strikes.

What makes the situation noteworthy is the near-empty bottle of cough syrup on the table, which can only mean that Orange is under the weather enough to require the medicine, or he's drinking it for recreational purposes.

Chris approaches the smaller man and places a hand on Orange's head, smooths back the short blonde hair and brushes is palm over a rather sticky, sweaty, heat-radiant forehead. The clammy moisture and the heat are telltale enough, proof that his counterpart has come down with something. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" the question is meant to be soothing but it comes out with a little more gusto than necessary; it sounds authoritative.

Orange rolls his head against his arm, wipes some fever-sweat onto his sleeve and turns an eye -because, the sunglasses are off so his eyes are visible- to the larger man. "Yeah, Chrissy?"

The term of address is new and out of place; it catches Jericho off guard. "Come on, let's get you back to bed. You're sick."

Orange hums and his mouth twitches into a small, tired smile. "Yeah, sick 'cuz of you... You don't put out, you tease. Want me summa tha' D."

Chris shakes his head and takes the bottle of cough syrup into his hands, skims the label and checks the remaining contents. "How much of this did you take?" It's practically empty, so he pitches it into a waste bin.

The question is rewarded with an almost drunken giggle. "Took enough." He sits up and sways a little in the chair; his head bobs loosely like a poorly controlled marionette. There's a brief moment where it appears Orange Cassidy might topple over, but he doesn't. He raises and holds out his arms, asking to be picked up. "C'mon, J-Bear. My Mister Bubbly-boo."

"Oh, for fuck sake, Cassidy." Chris rolls his eyes and grumbles dramatically; he slips in a few overly emphasized swear-laden complaints but he doesn't mean any of them. Gathering Orange into his arms takes little effort, and he likes that he can do this for the other man. He's even a little fond when it's convenient.

Usually, Orange takes up residency in the guest bedroom. This time, and it's a first, Chris carries him to the master bedroom and settles Orange on the bed. "Get some sleep, alright? And don't take any more cough medicine. I'll be at the pool if you need-" he stops talking when Orange sits up and looks at him with a sad, tired expression, hair plastered to his scalp with sweat and cheeks red with sick-heat. "Do you need something?" Chris has to ask. He's still working out the kinks in taking care of someone; it's still new to him, and he often picks up on little things he feels like he should have already known.

Orange doesn't answer with words. He just breathes a little harder and tugs at the hem of his shirt. He gets it half way up, his face covered by an expanse of cotton and his toned abdomen revealed, when he stops and simply waits.

Jericho gets the message, reaches over, and tugs the shirt the rest of the way off; he wads it up into a ball and tosses it into a hamper. "Anything else?"

Orange kicks the blankets away- he's too hot. Entirely too hot. Scorching. Burning from the inside out. He kicks the blankets towards the foot of the bed, lays back down and lifts his hips. His jeans are sweat-stuck to his thighs.

Jericho doesn't refute; he doesn't even give it a second thought before he sits down on the bed beside his partner, leans over and sets his hands to work at opening and tugging down those acid-washed things that pass for pants. The pants slide off and they're a little damp and Orange's skin underneath is textured sticky-cool from sitting in sweaty clothes and being newly exposed to air. "Is that better?" Chis asks, hoping he'll get an answer this time.

The smile Orange sends his way causes a pleasant lurch inside reminiscent of lovey dovey butterflies, but Chris would never admit it.

"J-Bear..."

"Is this going to be your new thing? Call me weird nicknames when you're sick?"

"Jeri-cobraaaa..."

Chris can't help the almost dopey grin that stretches across his face. "Whatever you say, Juicebox. Get some sleep." He says this, and he means it, and some strange corner of his mind is thinking about running with the Jericobra idea. Could make a cool t-shirt. And fans love new t-shirt designs.

"Jeri-cobra is what I call your dick when I talk about you."

The t-shirt idea isn't as appealing now.

Chris's amused grin pinches into a look of confusion. "How many people do you talk to about my dick?"

Orange's eyes slip closed and he turns over, ass in the air and face snuggling into the pillow. He takes a deep breath and exhales long and slow. He never answers. Instead, he falls into a relatively calm slumber.

While he sleeps, Chris grabs his phone and shoots a message into the Inner Circle's group chat.

Jericho: _Jeri-cobra?_

One by one, each member of the faction replies with an eggplant emoji.

Chris tries again, ignoring the fact that everyone (except for him) had already been aware of his dick's nickname (dickname?).

Jericho: _Sick Orange. Too much cough syrup. What to do?_

Guevara: _Give him that Vitamin C. O. C. K._

Hager: _Eat candy out of his navel. Better than it sounds. Nom on that belly.  
_

Ortiz: _Have you tried a doctor, man? Get one of them sexy costumes._

Santana: _Pornhub._

Jericho gives up working with his friends when they are in a teasing mood.

No longer feeling up for that swim, he decides to keep an eye on Orange. It's not hard to do. Not when that pert little ass is on display.

And maybe it's a little gay, but Chris can live with that if it means he gets a life with this impossible, annoying, smartass, lazy...-

Dammit, he loves that son of a bitch sloth-like little Juicebox.

And one day he'll say it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but fun! Hope you liked it!  
> More on the way. Keep them suggestions coming!


	4. Spirit Animals, Baybee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @newsiesofny234  
> Chuck, Trent, Jake, Sammy Santana, and Ortiz.  
> Six brilliant minds discuss the prospect of Chris and Orange having a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trashy chapter. Badly written. But it's fun!

It had been something of a regular hangout session, at first. The Inner Circle gathered at Jericho's and Orange invited Best Friends via text. Shortly after everyone arrived, Chris jumped on Orange's case like a mother hen, telling him that he should have picked up vitamins the last time they were out. To that, Orange let out a long, slow, suffering sigh and said: "I wrote you a reminder."

The reminder had been badly penned on a napkin and thrown out after they'd eaten a lunch. Jericho was not going to carry around a dirty napkin just so he could remember to pick up vitamins.

But maybe he should have?

The two ended up leaving, and the remaining six at the condo were left with little to talk about. The silence that fell became awkward fast until it was broken by Chuck Taylor. "Those two... If they ever have a child, that creation will be my spirit animal, for life, I swear."

Trent jumps on board the conversation train, jabbing a playful elbow at his Best Friend. "I thought I was your spirit animal."

To this, Chuck corrects: "Your mom used to be my spirit animal. You've always been like... my ass. Dependable, attached, damn good looking-"

"I'm good looking?" Trent's as curious as he is amused, but their banter is commonplace enough not to be taken too seriously.

"-well, my ass is, so...-" Chuck really is something, sometimes.

Santana jumps in, and things spiral from there. "If they had a kid, who would be the woman?"

"Orange Cassidy-" Sammy says without a second thought. But simultaneously, Jake had stated his opinion of "Chris, for sure." The two exchanged looks, questioning one another's reasoning.

Ortiz leans forward, elbows on his knees. "No, no, man. Chris is the dominant one of the two, and he's slow to commit. He's definitely the pitcher."

Santana shakes his head. "No, I'm with Jake on this. Chris isn't the type to plant his dick in someone's backyard. If anyone's getting pregnant, he's going to be on the receiving end."

Sammy's more than a little disturbed by the idea of his father figure having sex with the humanoid fruit slice. So, he redirects his focus: "Kid would probably be cute. Babies are like that."

"Born with sunglasses and a baseball bat- kid's gonna be a thug, for sure." Ortiz nods his approval and tries to picture the imaginary baby gangsta.

"Lazy thug," Hager corrects.

"Needs a name," Santana insists. "I'm thinkin' Eleanor."

"Stupid name for a boy-" Ortiz grumbles. "Dachshund. Like one of them wiener dogs, but as a cool ass name."

Jake huffs and shakes his head because this is all ridiculous. "No. That kid will get his - or her- ass kicked for that."

There's a debate at the ready, everyone with an opinion and name suggetsion. And then the subject warps into a query of who would be the favorite uncle.

Chris and Cassidy make their return. Upon walking in, they overhear enough to catch on.

It's Orange that sets everything straight. "I'm the pretty one, so I'm the woman. The kid shall be named Raisin Bran. We can call him or her C-Real."

"And Sammy's the favorite uncle, but Trent- and maybe Jake- are the only ones qualified to babysit," Chris concludes with a tired sigh. 

He's particularly tired because Orange had come across a toddler-sized carousel that he insisted on riding. And then there was the claw machine. And by the time Chris managed to claw-grab a prize for his partner, Orange was nowhere to be found.

It took entirely too long to find him taking selfies in the produce section next to a bin of oranges...


	5. DROP IT LIKE IT'S HOT

[PROMPT ME!]

Keep it reasonable and within the verse- but drop some prompts.

Suggestions welcome. 

Maybe questions or dares directed at the characters?

Some sort of scene?

Let's get the fun stuff going! 

-No guarantees as to what I'll end up writing, but your input and support are appreciated! 


	6. VISUAL CREATIVES!

-So there isn't any confusion, actual chapter content is in progress.

Also!

I am planning to draw up an official design for Chris and Cassidy's lovechild. There is too much potential there, can't let it go to waste!

But I thought it might be fun to ask- if there are any readers who dabble in drawing or character design, would you be interested in submitting/sharing your take on the character? 


	7. C-Real Official Design

Can't believe I did this, but it's almost 2am, I'm tired and I'm gonna call this done!

The lovechild of Chris Jericho and Orange Cassidy.  
Name: Raisin Bran, commonly called C-Real (cereal!).

THIS IS THE BAYBEE GOAT!

\--Clumsy and vitamin deficient when young- becomes very attached to everything athletic and sport related. Can be competitive. Is unstoppable until tired- then he's just useless.

(fun fact, he was going to be gender fluid, and I initially had a more feminine design started. Then I realized that feminine characters are super hard to draw. I TOOK THE EASY WAY OUT, and I have NO REGRETS.)


	8. GOAT Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slumber party at Jericho's.  
> Prompted by @Citrus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have internet access and there are things on there.   
> That is my excuse for this madness.

It's a Saturday night, the moon is bright and the weather is nice, and there's a million things they could be doing, and yet they find themselves grouped around a some overpriced antique vase full of little paper stubs, each scripted with something to act out as they play Charades.

Ortiz is up, swiping a closed fist diagonally near his shoulder. His lips are pursed with the enforced reminder that vocalized hints are not allowed. When the timer runs out and no one guesses correctly, he stomps his foot and lets out a frustrated groan. "Violinist. I'm a violinist. How hard is it to guess that, man?"

Santana scowls and looks personally offended. "Oh for the love of- that ain't how you hold a violin! Looked more like you were jacking off some invisible crooked-dicked giant!"

Ortiz rapid-fires back with: "Your ma's a crooked-dicked giant!"

"Don't bring moms into this," Trent almost begs. Sue pops up now and then as a hot topic, and he doesn't want that to happen. Bless his poor mom, she doesn't deserve it.

Chuck throws his head back and lets out a lewd moan. "I fuckin' love your mom... She bakes the best-"

It catches everyone by surprise when Sammy Guevara interrupts with: "And I love fuckin' your mom, Chuck."

It's new and uncomfortable territory. For as much time as they've all spent together, Sammy and Chuck don't make a habit of talking directly to one another; their banter is usually directed at almost everyone else rather than each other.

Poor Jake had been mid-drink with his Gatorade, and it comes out everywhere, through his nose and mouth, and he's choking on it in the most unflattering way. "Sammy..." he chides between breaths as he rides out the choke like a stunted orgasm. His face is tinged red and he's breathing heavy and Guevara's the only one present that finds any appeal in the wet wheezes.

Chris assists by reaching a hand over and giving Sammy a playful shove. "No, not in front of Jake, Sammy. Part of being in a relationship, you learn to-"

Chuck T all but pounces on Guevara with a sloppily adapted crossbody. "You like fuckin' my mom?" There's a look in Chuck's eyes- the one he gets when he's about to snap and push something too far.

It's a look that admittedly scares the hell out of Trent, and Trent prepares himself to intervene.

"Maybe my mom likes fuckin' you..." as Chuck says the words the absurdity becomes all too clear. He's looming over the Spanish God because of a terrible joke that didn't even land. The stupidity of it all makes him laugh a little. "You're a cute kid," he says, and suddenly he's not only pinning Guevara on the floor, he's also leaning in with his mouth open and tongue out, licking a warm wet line over the other wrestler's cheek.

Trent looks and feels relieved that Chuck backed down from what could have been a meltdown.

But the expression that comes over Jake Hager is uneasy, if not jealous and borderline pissed.

Their game of charades is all but forgotten and the room is filled with mixed signals.

It's then that Orange Cassidy enters the scene with a bottle of orange juice in one hand and bowl of pretzel sticks in the other. He sets his drink and snacks down and takes a seat next to Chris. He leisurely skims the room and takes in everyone's demeanor. "Chuuuuck," he calls to his friend. "I forgot my hotpocket. Will you go get it?"

Chuck looks at Orange, frowns and knits his brows together; there's a little crease in his forehead as he articulates an expression that is both confused and annoyed. "Yeah, um, okay. Where is it?"

Orange answers, "In a box, packaged individually with a little cardboard sleeve. You'll have to cook it..."

"I'm not making you a damn hotpocket, you have pretzels," Chuck's full-on pouting when he gets up and exits the room adding: "...I'm making my own damn hotpocket. Can't believe you didn't offer me one."

Chris side-glances at Orange and shakes his head. "Your friend is exhausting."

Sammy, excused from Chuck's awkwardness, is at Jake's side with his shirt rolled up and exposing his abs; he's got a hand tangled in the fabric and is using it to wipe choked-up Gatorade off of Jake Hager's face.

Orange Cassidy returns his partner's look with one that almost matches. The implied _'Your friends aren't any better'_ goes unspoken. What he says instead is: "Hair braiding or nail painting? It's a slumber party, right?"

"Nah, not enough women for a real party," Santana says seriously.

Ortiz hits him with a fist-bump because it's a textbook sausage fest. "Yeah, there should be at least one woman here to break up the all the wang... Trent, mind if I call Sue?"

Trent cannot believe his ears. He rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to reply- because there is absolutely NO WAY his mom is being dragged into anything. Before he even gets a word out, Ortiz has his phone on speaker and it's ringing, and-

" _Hello_?"

Ortiz called Trent's mom. The mere act is almost as alarming as the fact that he has her number to begin with. "Mama Sue-"

" _Ortiz, is that my favorite thug?_ "

Trent's head falls into his hands. Because this cannot be happening.

Santana chimes in: "Mama Sue, I'm here too."

_"Santana- You know, I just finished reading that book you sent me- the one with Anastasia Steele-"_

"50 Shades," Santana nods and waves at the phone to urge her to continue even though she cannot see the action.

Trent wants to die a little. Because this is not something he wants to associate with his mom. "I'm here too, mom."

" _Trent, oh, it's good to know you've made friends-_ "

"Chuck's my friend...-"

"Hey, Sue," it's Orange Cassidy's voice next, low but audible enough to carry through the phone.

" _So_ _, the whole gang is there? I might be able to stop by and bring lemon squares._ "

"It's okay, mom. You don't have to..." Trent's eyes are almost pleading but he keeps his voice level.

" _If you don't need me to..._ "

_There's the indistinct sound of voices chatting in the background, and Sue answers with a laugh, and then a disturbingly familiar voice that sounds like John Silver: "Mama Sue, you're out of milk! I'll have to milk Ten!"_

The call cuts off, and both Santana and Ortiz look at Trent like he's some kind of dick.

"That sweet woman wanted to stop over, and you told her to fuck off," Ortiz gripes. "Real classy, asshole... Classhole."

"I didn't say that," Trent defends. And he's not sure why he's defending himself because he didn't do anything wrong. He's just trying to look out for Sue and be a good son. He turns to Santana. "You gave literary porn to my mom...?"

"Someone had to," Santana says bluntly. "And that's a good woman right there. She's not _just_ your mom. She is a bonafide _woman_. With all the working lady parts."

Trent feels sick. He casts an apologetic look in Orange's direction and excuses himself with: "I'm going to see if Chuck needs help. Because that's what friends do."

When Trent leaves, Sammy's eyes are exaggeratedly wide and he just says: "Wow... Intense. All that over a phone call?"

Hager shrugs. "Do you want Santana and Ortiz to talk to your mom?"

Sammy shakes his head. Not because he thinks anything bad would come from it, but he likes to keep his parents out of this part of his life. Some silly part of his brain decided long ago that they just aren't meant to mix. "No... No more mom-calling. We're good. So, where were we?"

"Slumber party needs kicked off," Orange says with a sigh. He leans too heavily on Chris and stretches his legs out; the adjustment leads to the over-filled bowl of pretzels nearly spilling. "Truth or Dare? Pillow fights?"

Trent and Chuck return, Chuck with a plate topped with a single hotpocket that he absolutely refuses to give to Orange, and Trent with a tumbler glass that he readily offers to Orange Cassidy. "Vodka and diet coke-"

Orange accepts and downs the drink in a single swallow. It doesn't mix great with the pretzels and orange juice but he's had worse combinations before. "Truth or Dare, Baybee, someone dare me." He's suddenly more emboldened and peppy than usual. A good mood and a little booze does that for him.

It's Sammy that picks the dare. "Alright. I've been told that you stripped... while I was MIA. I looked and there aren't any videos online. I dare you to show me what I missed."

Orange reclaims his empty glass and tries to let gravity feed him just a few more drops, but there's nothing left. "Refill," he says, handing the glass off to Trent. And then he's on his feet and there's a slight sway to how he holds himself. "Music? Music helps... for mood purposes."

Sammy holds up his own bottle of water like he's making a toast: "In the name of the G.O.A.T for giving us 30 years!" he takes a deep breath and his arms go wide in a grand gesture. "You are beautiful on the inside..." He rocks his body to the rhythm. "You are innocence personified..."

Orange shrugs out of his jacket, slow and casual, the denim slipping down one shoulder and remaining caught on the other.

Chris grins as he watches, Sammy's off-key singing making him want to laugh- but the kid has heart, so he doesn't. Everyone should embrace Judas and sing for all they're worth.

Santana and Ortiz get on either side of Guevara, loop their arms under his and pull him up to stand, and the three of them sync for "And I will drag you down and sell you out-"

Hager bobs his head, completely off beat, but his smile and enthusiasm make up for it. "Run... a... wayy..."

Orange's jacket comes off and falls to the floor, and he stops moving altogether to stare at it and give it a lazy kick to get it out of the way.

"What have I become... now that I've betrayed-" Sammy's the loudest at belting the lyrics and his voice cracks in unflattering ways.

Orange's shirt comes off next, and there's more black marker sharpie'd on his torso- little hollow hearts drawn around his nipples and Chuckie T's signature on the exposed skin just above his the hem of his pants.

Chuck doesn't join in on the singing. He's too busy eating his hotpocket and offering emotional support to Trent.

Trent admittedly mutters along with "I'm become- I'm become- I'm becoming..." when Orange approaches and lifts his foot, waiting for Trent to help with his shoes. Trent obliges, tugs at the laces and pulls the shoes one at a time.

Orange turns away from the others and shakes his ass before dropping his pants. It's an attractive display but the delivery isn't as artful as it could be. Orange is decidedly done stripping when he's left in a pair of pineapple printed boxerbriefs and the gang concludes with "Judas in my mind."

Chris brings his hands together to applaud his partner's show. He lets out a wolf whistle and drums up the noise.

"You should see me on a pole," Orange tells them. He doesn't elaborate, even when he is met with a barrage of questioning stares. He doesn't pull his clothes back on, just reclaims his seat with Chris.

"Who's next?" Sammy asks.

Chris shrugs. He's not into the games, but he likes the group spending time together. "I dunno. Someone pick Truth since we just had a dare."

"Yo, Chris-man, I don't think the rules work that way-" Ortiz tries to explain, "I think there's an order, like maybe-"

"Truth," chooses Santana.

And Orange's face splits into a grin that looks almost devilish. "Between you and Ortiz, who has the bigger dick?"

Both Santana and Ortiz exchange a look before claiming themselves the victor of measured results. So they decide to do a quick check.

Chuck's a little too curious, so he invades their personal space so he can personally judge.

Proud and Powerful face away from the others when they whip out their wangs and exchange too-loud whispers of-

"Why does it look like that?"

"Mine has a better curve..."

"No, mine is definitely bigger."

"Man, your balls are so disproportional."

"We're not judging balls, you dick!"

"Yeah, my dick..."

Chuck drops to his knees, eyes level with the two shlongs. "Ortiz is thicker, Santana is longer," he observes. "Nice though..."

Everyone barring Chuck has the decency not to look... though Orange may have taken a quick peak. Because everyone does it. Everyone looks to compare wangs, even if they don't do it openly.

The game of Truth or Dare manages to devolve into a milk-drinking challenge wherein everyone attempts to drink an entire gallon of milk.

Trent is completely baffled and finds himself asking why Jericho has so many gallons of milk on hand.

Orange answers with an unexplained: "Milk bath. Meow-meow." By then he's had a few refills of his choice beverage, and is brain is working at half capacity.

They all uncap their gallon sized jugs of milk and start chugging when Chris gives a vague hand gesture.

Sammy taps out first, sputtering and spilling milk all over. His stomach clenches and protests the cold milky invasion and he has to swallow a few time to keep from puking.

Jake goes strong, half a gallon down in just a few impressively large gulps.

Orange gives in, chokes and coughs a little and spills the bulk of his gallon on himself and the floor. White runs down his chest and soaks his pants, and it's an uncomfortable feeling.

Santana and Ortiz are out at almost the exact same time, echoing each other with gagging over drinking too much milk.

Chris has a good run, gets three-quarters of the way through his milk before his stomach just won't allow any more. He sets the jug down and stops with far more dignity than the others had.

Trent looks like he might finish; his strategy to pace himself instead of outright chugging pays off- until Chuck chokes and falls into him dramatically, and then the rim of the milk jug is pulled away from Trent and it splashes and spills all over, and they are both decidedly out.

All that's left then is Hager.

Jake swallows the last of it, opens his mouth and flicks his tongue out to show that he's all done. "Not too hard," he says, and pats his chest like he's rewarding himself and showing off in one notion.

"This needs cleaned up..." Chris looks around at all the milk, and he's suddenly aware that the mess cannot be left unattended. No one likes the smell of soured milk.

Orange responds by laying on the floor. He's already soaked and getting on the floor only leads to some of it wetting his hair. "I... am... sponge. Mop with me."

Chuck humors him, grabs him by the wrists and drags him through the mess of spilled milk. "Orange... Orange, you're not soaking it up."

Trent shakes his head at the idiocy. "I'll find a bucket and a mop-"

Sammy laughs behind his hand, and it's almost compulsive when he chants "I'm talking WAP, WAP, WAP-"

Jake grabs his cub and shakes his head. Because some things are just not meant to be done among a group of guys. He knows the song; he's seen his cub dance to it. It's not meant for sharing.

Sammy's almost pouting when his voice lowers to a mere mutter of "whores in this house."

It takes a bit of pushing from Trent and a vocalized insistence from Jericho, but eventually everyone is armed with cleaning supplies, getting everything back to clean and tidy and then divvying up turns for showers.

The night concludes with everyone more tired than they feel they have the right to be. But it ends well enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many regrets, but I stand by what I've done!  
> Keep your suggestions coming!  
> \---Also, should C-Real get any chapters- or be kept purely crack/imaginary?  
> \---If I drew up more art and/or panel comics, would anyone be interested in them being posted here?


	9. TRIAL RUN AND HEADCANON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please read and drop your input. Your thoughts are valued and appreciated!

THINGS TO COME-

Chris and Orange's actual first time? Will that finally happen?! Actual Chris on Cassidy boning? In honor of Halloween, will Jericho drive his stake into Orange's vampiric hiney?

C-Real is getting a trial chapter to see how it goes. This is where I need YOUR help!

What are you particularly interested in getting? I have ideas, but they are flexible.

Theories, ideas, and preconceived headcanons? DROP THEM ALL HERE! Some of them may become official!

Feeling creative? Like my work? Find it inspirational? Fan art and inspired fics would make my day! I love these pairings and this type of content, but there is very little of it! LET'S FIX THAT!


	10. Fountain Pen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick detour for Jake and Sammy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feelings and a handjob. That's pretty much it.  
> Had to write this down because it wouldn't leave me alone!

[gifs, not accurate with how I portray their attire... but I like the energy/attitude presented]

Half-cocked, solid click, full cock- ready to go, but held back by a single word or obscure gesture. Locked and loaded, ready to blow, but set aside to serve as a threat rather than a functional tool. Hager is all pent up energy blocked in behind a passive expression as he stands statuesque behind Jericho.

Guevara's off to his left, idling from foot to foot and popping his gum loudly, looking like a kid filling too big shoes.

Santana and Oritz are on the other side, almost comically expressive with slang and energetic body language; they’re fun to watch, and they bring believable entertainment value.

Chris Jericho is up front calling the shots. He's a natural leader, and the crowd drinks him in like he _is_ the Bubbly.

Everyone in the Inner Circle has a spot to fill and a way to portray themselves, to be a cohesive unit. It's vital to their success.

Hager knows his place, and he assumes that role as easy as breathing. He is a wall of muscle, a weapon loaded and ready to go off whenever his boss gives the signal… or whenever a member of their faction is in trouble. It's as simple as point-and-shoot, and he does his job. He is the Big Hurt, decorated (if not decorative) member of the Painmaker's posse.

He has his own stint, and he can do that. He delivers and sells it as good as anyone in the game, and he looks damn impressive doing it.

So, when Le Champion makes his speech and moves the plot along, and the Spanish God is flicking his tongue out and sneaking in a Jericho-hug, and Proud and Powerful are backing each other like brothers… Hager can't help feeling underwhelmed, like furniture.

Nice, expensive, tasteful furniture, but it does the same job as the cheap shit. Just sits there until someone decides to use it. And he doesn't like that too well. It doesn't sit right with him.

He's supposed to keep his eyes forward and listen for his queues. But he lets his gaze wander, and it sweeps over to Guevara. 

Sammy doesn't say anything. He's wearing sunglasses, so it isn't obvious to the crowd when his own eyes roll to the side and make contact with Jake's. There's a silent conversation _not_ _quite_ happening, but something is there and the corners of Sammy's mouth upturn just a little, and he discreetly brushes a hand against the blonde's larger one.

The contact is small but purposeful. And it fulfills something in Hager. Gives him something akin to reassurance. 

The Big Hurt takes a deep breath and lets it out like a gust.

Jericho concludes by issuing a challenge for a match, setting up for next week's Dynamite, and then things wind down and everyone leaves the ring and heads backstage, respectively.

Jake hangs back and walks a little slower, and Sammy stalls to keep pace with him. 

"Cheer up and you can help me out of my gear…" the offer is delivered coyly, though the cocky grin that comes next completely voids the feign... At least the new expression is an honest one.

And that open honesty is what gets to Hager. He's slow to respond, and for a moment Guevara thinks he's being passed over; the very idea is off-putting, but he gets it. It doesn't bother him if they don't trade favors right away. It's almost endearing how a big guy like Jake can be so wholesome someti-

"Yeah, okay," Jake finally says, and he loops an arm around Sammy's midsection and half-guides half-drags him down the hall and to a more secluded area. Sammy's jacket is wrenched off with a little too much force and his bare back is pressed into the cold wall. He arches away from the chilling sensation, his flesh pimpling with goosebumps at the invasive cold. He doesn't get a second to collect himself before Jake's hands go straight to his hips, thumps tucking under the waistband of his tiny custom trunks and pulling the garment down to rest around his thighs.

Dignity is completely gone and out the window for the Spanish God when one huge had wraps around him; he instinctively pistons his hips into that strong, callous heat and his breath draws in and out with aborted stutters. Jake's hand works him like a pro, with easy tugs and a twist of the wrist. And it's all the more maddening when the blonde leans in, his shirt pressing and rubbing against Sammy's bare chest and sensitive little nipples, and Jake's head angles low so that his breath blows warm puffs on Sammy's ear and neck, and-

-and then Jake fuckin' Hager, the All American with a dual career and a Bachelor's degree in finance- he _talks_. And it isn't a sexy talk. No Sir-to-Cub commands or praises. Nothing worthy of being saved for the bedroom. What comes out, instead, is a heavy breath and a low voice that confesses: "I am so fuckin' underwhelmed..."

It's bizarre, truly, that Hager would choose this particular moment to get this off his chest. But Guevara won't stop him. He understands what it's like to need support and seek it in a trivial manner. After all, he still keeps his leg wrapped more often than not, even though it's as healed as it's ever going to be without cosmetic surgery to pretty it up.

"I'm here week after week, and..." Hager sounds more wounded than disappointed, and it's a horrible sound when his voice cracks. Because Jake Hager doesn't get that level of emotional. It just doesn't happen.

Sammy can't be sure if he's aiming to support himself or offer comfort- but he's probably attempting to do both- when he wraps his arms around Jake and rests one hand on the back of the blonde's head; his fingers curl and he lightly grazes his nails along Jake's scalp.

Jake's hand is seemingly on autopilot while he jerks the younger wrestler; he's shamefully good at it, leaving Sammy breathing in quick bursts that make his mouth get a little dry.

"Sometimes I want to be more than just the muscle..." and there it is. His head ducks lower- to the point where it can't possibly be comfortable for his neck- and he presses too-soft open mouthed kisses along Sammy's jaw and neck.

Guevara's all worked up, eyes half-lidded, cock beyond erect and fully engorged to the point of leaking beads of precum.

Jake's hand speeds up and changes the application of pressure, his thumb teases along the vein and circles over the head.

Heat pools mercilessly in Sammy's gut and he knows he close. Too close. Too fast, for just a quick handjob. He bucks up, arches, and lets out an moan that is embarrassingly high pitched, but the sound is quickly swallowed by Hager going in for a hot and heavy kiss . Their noses bump until one of them turns their head, and their mouths melt together, and it's as much pliant lips as it is scraping teeth while the younger man empties his load and makes a mess of that shirt...

When they finally part, Sammy's head is fuzzy and his vision is blurry; he can hardly breathe and his legs refuse to support him, but it's fine because he's still holding on tight to Hager.

The two simply hold one another for a seemingly infinite amount of time, just breathing and soaking up as much contact as possible.

Jake isn't sure how he feels. He is under-utilized, and he wants more because he has so much more to offer. At the same time, he has this beautiful thing in his arms, and maybe that makes up for it a little.

Or, maybe the fact that he has Sammy outshines his lackluster feelings towards his assigned role... because when that cub finally catches his breath and gets his brain working enough, he speaks, and what he says means absolutely everything to Jake.

"You have to be the muscle. Not just because of your size. You got heart, man. The heart is a muscle. No one has a heart as big as yours. People see you, and they don't think you're a prop. They know you're a core part of who we are and what we stand for."

It's quiet after that, and the two remain close, holding one another. When Jake finds the strength, he pulls away, looks down, and laughs a little. It's a good sound coming from him. "You explode like a fountain pen, Samcub."

"It's your fault. You know how I get when you're all deep and honest and shit."

Jake changes his shirt and Sammy gets dressed in clean clothes.

Later, they'll finish off the night with stale jokes and a game of Uno.


	11. Placebo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's costumes at Cody's Halloween party. Stuff happens. Oh, and Chris and Orange DO IT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's sloppy and awful and needs a ton of editing.   
> Enjoy it anyway!

The American Nightmare Cody and his wife Brandi host an annual Halloween party, and they've been doing so for years. It's a good time with a crowd of AEW talent and crew, along with a barrage of friends and associates. It's packed with drinks, conversation, bad jokes, and the occasional breakout of a half-assed match that is more of a friendly exchange of blows and holds than an actual brawl; Sonny Kiss and Joey Janela seem to be hosting a small tourney where people line up for a quick spar that ends the moment someone gets their back-and-shoulders pressed to the ground... or in Brandon Cutler's case, when he gets involuntarily pulled in by Peter Avalon (he'd just wanted to talk to Leva Bates about an upcoming D&D game) and Cutler's unceremoniously shoved into the pool.

Sympathetic to how unfun it must have been to take the plunge, Kip Sabian offers a hand to pull Brandon out... only to find himself launched into the water as well, by none of than Miro, who jumps in cannonball style after. "The Best Man knew a dip in the pool would be fun."

"I'm not dressed for the pool," Kip sputters after spitting out a mouthful of water.

It's too early in the evening for these shenanigans.

Brandi's had a few too many shots and the night has barely begun, but she's having a good time with Red Velvet, hugging on her and calling her 'Lil Cupcake;' it's a mixed blessing because prior to that she'd been on her husband's case about using the color orange as a theme for holiday decoration.

"Orange is a fall color. It's common around Halloween."

"You just like it because it's bright and makes you think of-"

"Brandi, don't do this right now. We have guests-"

Brandi is all too happy to steal a drink and pal around with her girl, leaving her husband to stand there costumed in bright orange and gold pants with a matching lucha mask. He's gotten a number of queries about who he's supposed to be but just as many have written him off as a generic lucha. Credit to him, he'd tried explaining: "I'm dressed as the master of the Tornado DDT: Fuego del-"

"You still obsessing over that Fuego del Kid? Little bastard got flattened by Scorpio Sky and couldn't even pull off that DDT." Jericho's butting in, being more than a little mean about his insult, but why should he go light on the issue? Cody's bizarre tendency to mark out for the young lucha is potentially driving a wedge into his marriage. If anything, Chris is doing the American Nightmare a favor by pushing him to save his relationship.

Cody pulls a face under the mask before turning and heading almost anywhere else. His mood instantly brightens when he sees a shorter man with a warm skin tone and a shirt that reads _KBW FOREVER_. "Fuego, my man, glad you could make it-"

"Cody-"

"Undesirable to undeniable, right?"

"Yeah, but-"

Cody's hands are on the young lucha before the other wrestler can get a proper word in. Their masks rub when their mouths collide.

Fuego pushes against the larger man's chest at first but then rolls a shoulder in an awkward shrug and dives in to participate. They'd been toeing around each other for weeks, and while Brandi appears to openly despise him, she'd personally gone to him and given him a free pass to stand in as Cody's sidepiece- whatever that means.

He gets his answer well enough when Brandi and Red Velvet walk on by holding hands and Brandi's free hand gives him a hard slap on the ass that his him on his toes and leaning more into Cody on reflex. By then, it's less of a kiss and more of Cody's teeth catching at the edge of his mask in a way that is playful and almost endearing but not at all enticing or seductive.

"Is this a thing? Your wife cool with this?" he's gotta ask. Something inside him is too pure not to.

Cody doesn't answer directly, just scoops Fuego up like he weighs nothing and sings offkey: "Fuegooo del Soool, El Fuegoooo... del Sol, Let's Gooo!"

It's bad enough to make Fuego laugh and calm whatever nervousness had been building prior.

-

Jericho had shown up to keep formalities because he genuinely likes a lot of the people he works with. Costume-wise, he's gone for a fake injury: a slash across the throat- a bloodied prosthetic cleanly and seamlessly applied courtesy of Luther. To go with it, he's chosen flashy bold attire. There was a wig... but it was uncooperative and left in the limo. He's got a glass of champagne in his hand and he's nodding along to something someone is saying- but he's not really listening because he catches sight of acid-washed denim and blonde hair, and-

-and it's NOT Orange Cassidy. It's too tall, too largely built, too... Jake Hager... to be Orange Cassidy. It's a compulsion to go over and give Hager a hard time for his terrible costume, but Chris doesn't get a chance too.

Because he sees someone else in costume, decked out in a spiked leather jacket and sunglasses, with a Le Champion bandana tied loosely around the neck and-

-and it's flattering, but no one pulls off the look like Chris Jericho can, and it's entirely too bizarre to realize that _Sammy Guevara_ is the one in that costume. And it gets even worse when Sammy goes over to Hager - _Hager dressed like Cassidy_ \- and the two have a very private moment in a very public place, with an embrace and a smooch, and the PDA has Chris stepping away to find something better to do.

Because he's still not all the way open with his own relationship. Sure, a lot of people have put the pieces together, but they don't go out of their way to gay up a scene.

Chris finishes his drink and gets another- there's a caterer. Of course there's a fuckin' caterer. Rhodes wouldn't cheap out on a celebration. He gets halfway through his drink, occasionally mingling with highenders and passersby when he finally sees the real Orange Cassidy.

There's a moment where Jericho feels a little bad for insisting that they arrive separately. For the sake of appearances. Orange had stared at him with a deadpan expression for a long moment before shrugging and walking off. Chris hadn't seen him since... until now.

Orange is dressed in his usual denim; his white shirt is spattered with fake blood, and he has a junior-sized cape held on by a sloppily tied knot. He's talking to Trent about something that seems insistent and hushed, private but important. As he opens and closes his mouth, Chris is able to see sharp little vampire veneers applied over his real teeth.

Trent is decked out in a bright yellow button up shirt with a vest and a hat- and he's supposed to be Woody from Toy Story, and Chuck enters the scene dressed-

_He's not dressed as Buzz Lightyear._

Instead, Chuck Taylor has a toolbelt, a flannel shirt, a hat, and a prop axe... "Ah, man, I thought we were doing a bit! You said you were going to be wood!"

" _Woody_. I said I was Woody."

"Now my costume doesn't make sense..." Chuck looks entirely too disappointed for the situation at hand. "It was going to be funny."

Ever so helpful and supportive, Orange raises an arm and his thumb juts upward just a bit. That little sign of approval seems to do the trick because Chuck throws on a megawatt smile and proceeds to talk about something silly his dog did. It concludes with him laughing, nearly in tears, belting: "And I had to pick up the hotdog, but I didn't want to because all I could think about was FTR!"

Chris had been watching. But he had to step away because it felt invasive. He's another two drinks in when he encounters MJF. Maxwell isn't in costume because nothing outclasses his usual attire. He waves Jericho over and meets him halfway. "Your Inner Circle too busy to roll around you like dogs?"

Jericho regarded him thoughtfully, judgmentally. Because he's still not okay with how MJF handled Sammy's return to AEW. "Funny how you wanted to be one of those dogs, Max."

"I was feeling charitable. You're welcome."

Chris should brush the other man off and ignore him. He should. But it's already been a shitty night and it's still early. And MJF isn't the worst guy in the industry. It's not like MJF is still a babyface working under Cody. "Where's your bodyguard?" Chris finds himself asking, and when Maxwell Jacob Friedman nods in one direction and Chris looks, he almost wishes he hadn't asked.

Wardlow's costume is less costume and more of him being shirtless with a pair of snug trunks and what looks like paint across his chest reading "I AM GROOT." He's surrounded by members of the Dark Order, and they all seem to be getting too handsy while Wardlow shows off by flexing his pecs.

Jericho looks away from the spectacle of Alex and Silver grabbing and mouthing at Wardlow's body like they're mid-worship, and he turns his attention back to MJF. "He looks like he's about ready to sport purple. Is that a concern for you?"

"He's not joining the Dark Order," MJF waves off the absurd idea. "He's too loyal to- _Wardlow_ , don't let them put their mouths on you!" He bails on Chris in favor of rescuing the big guy from the slobbering pervy cultists.

Chris finds himself walking around aimlessly and shrugging off or ignoring people who try to get his attention. He almost wishes he and Orange had spent the night together with a bit of playful wrestling while watching some shitty Lifetime movie. It would have been more enjoyable. Then again, maybe spending too much time with the human sloth is just making him soft.

There's an honest moment when he considers... maybe... that he should spend less time with the walking fruit slice. He changes his mind when lumberjack Chuck and Sheriff Trent come over and Chuck all but drops vampire Orange Cassidy into Jericho's lap before he and his tag partner run off- something about Santana and Ortiz being dropped off by Sue and arriving with hoagies.

Chris feels a little ridiculous to be holding Orange in his lap so publicly while Proud and Powerful apparently mingle with Best Friends. It's a strange world and it just keeps getting stranger. He's half a second away from pushing Orange out of his lap when the slighter wrestler wraps his arms around Chris and says: "I need help." The words are quiet and understated, and something about it spikes worry in Chris.

Because Orange doesn't typically ask for help. Especially not with words. Usually it's through physical gestures that he just expects people to pick up on. The fact that Orange is asking-

It's instinct that Chris looks Orange over and goes as far as to press a hand to the other man's forehead to check for a fever.

"I ate something."

Chris doesn't think much on it. It's a party. There is food and beverages. Of course Orange Cassidy ate something-

Orange opens his mouth and points inside, and it looks as dramatic as it does childish. "I don't know what I ate."

"Do you have allergies?" Chris is trying to see if maybe Orange's tongue looks swollen, like maybe he has a nut allergy and needs a hospital or an epi-pen.

Orange shakes his head. "Little white candies... on the table."

_Pills._

Leave it to Orange fuckin' Cassidy to come across drugs, assume it's candy, and swallow pills.

"Should I take you to a hospital? How much did you take-" His forefinger and thumb pinch the joint of Orange's sunglasses and, in one swift movement, he rips the eye apparel from the blonde's face and tosses it aside were it skitters and stops along a concrete patio... and is then crunched beneath the foot of an overly enthusiastic Kenny Omega who runs through with green scaly pants, a seashell bra and a red wig... but Chris doesn't notice Omega or the destroyed sunglasses; his focus is on those eyes, checking pupils for dilation. "Focus, Cassidy," he says sternly, voice pitched to enforce compliance. "Focus, and look at me."

Orange tries, for all intent and purpose, those eyes try to hone in on his partner, but his vision blurs and his eyes roll back and his lids flutter.

He's slipping...

Chris feels the exact moment Orange's pulse starts to drop. Not through the clothes, not in literal beats, but Orange's whole body starts to fall slack and his head rolls along his neck, almost bobbling.

Whatever and however much he took, Orange is crashing. There's a little bit of stiffness in his thighs, spine, and shoulders: an indication that he's holding onto a degree of consciousness, but his arms have dropped uselessly and his entire frame is starting to sag between Jericho's arms.

Chris gives him a jostle and those eyes open briefly before slipping closed again. "Do you need a hospital, or should you just sleep it off?" It's hard to be sure. He doesn't know what Orange ingested... "Dammit, Cassidy, how much did you take? Come on, Juicebox, talk to me!" Another shake, and he's rewarded with a lethargic thumbs up from his partner. "Dammit, Orange..." Le Champion resolves then and there to call up his driver. Whether Orange needs to go home and sleep or be rushed to a hospital to get his stomach pumped, he isn't sure. But sticking around the home of that jackass Cody isn't going to get anything accomplished.

He makes the call, barks for his driver to get his ass over to pick him up, and disconnects the call without so much as a warning.

Orange's hand comes up and weakly paws at Chris's shirt. The motions are mostly ineffective but eventually catch on a button and pops it loose.

"Not now, Cassidy, you could be dying..." Jericho spouts the words without thought and his heart seizes in his chest for a moment because... he's not ready for that possibility. Orange Cassidy has to be okay. There is no alternative outcome that will suffice.

Orange still tries to work at Chris's shirt. Two buttons pop open and skin is exposed for Orange to feel up. "J-Bear..."

Chris is having none of that. He manhandles Cassidy and tosses him over his shoulder for an unceremonious trip to meet his limo driver. It takes little effort to push the slighter blonde into the seat and climb in after. Once the door is slammed shut, Chris regards Orange.

Orange is at least starting to sit up on his own and seemingly regaining coordination.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?"

Orange responds by opening his mouth and... not saying anything.

Having been together for so long, Chris has learned that a fair amount of Orange Cassidy's communication happens through physical cues. Not familiar with this one, Chris takes a gamble and guesses, and- "You need to puke those pills up, don't you?" Without waiting for a response, he gets one hand on the back of Orange's head and the fingers of his opposing hand are shoved into that familiar mouth.

Orange jerks and struggles, eyes wide while he literally chokes on large thick fingers that poke and prod and work their way towards his esophagus, trying to trigger a gag reflex. Orange's hand shoves at Chris's chest and then goes for the face with some insistent grabbing and pushing and- and he chokes, gags, coughs, and sputters, pulling back as much as he can but that hand on the back of his head is unrelenting. Orange's face turns red with effort and failing oxygen while his mouth and throat works around those invasive digits, and sure enough bile rises in his throat and comes up through his mouth and nose, spilling down his chin and around Jericho's hand.

Chris keeps working Cassidy, fingers twitching and curling and milking vomit from the other man.

"Just a little more. Spit those pills out..."

Finally, there's success as little white ovals come up with spit and stomach acid and Chris withdraws his hands and grimaces at the little white things and the collection of fluids in his palm. Curiously, suspiciously, he brings his saturated palm close and gives it a sniff. The stomach acid smells acrid but there's a faint minty smell in the mix, and...-

"Cassidy. Orange. Buddy. My... precious little Juicebox..." He pauses, eyes closing as he huffs in frustration. "These are tictacs."

Orange's eyes are moist, nose is a little drippy with snot, and his chin his a mess of spewed liquid. His face is reddened as he catches his breath, and he looks terrible. "...whatever."

"Not _whatever_. You can't make me worry over dumb shit like this," Chris is irate, and he has every right to be.

Orange's eyes are a little glassy but they sharpen in a way that telegraphs spinning gears and profound thought. "D-Do that again, Chris."

Chris is as baffled as he is upset. "What? No."

"Mhm. Again." Orange takes initiative, slaps the wet, partially eroded tictacs out of that large hand and then brings his own mouth in close, tongue cleaning off the nasty sour acid before he takes the digit into his mouth and sucks; his lips are soft and pliant and his tongue is insistent, and that suction is damning.

Orange tries. He's excellent with oral and knows what he's doing, but Chris can't get any sexual hype out of what just happened. He forcefully gagged and choked Cassidy to make him puke up tictacs. He's more than a little miffed, and he has to wonder if that slip into unconsciousness was a legitimate concern or some ploy for attention.

"Just wanted to get you alone," Orange says when he releases Chris's hand. "I thought... maybe we could..." The tone of his voice is borderline disappointed and his head is angled low. "I'm not a woman, ChrissyBear. I have needs. And if those needs can't be met, then... where do we go from here?"

Chris gets it. They've hit a rut where oral and handjobs are stale, and they should have been able to properly bed each other by now. He's out of excuses. Nothing about Orange's body disgusts him. So, what is he really waiting for?

"Okay, Orange. You're right."

Orange's face takes on the most shocked expression Chris has ever seen. All wide eyes and disbelief with a sweet blend of hope. Cassidy doesn't waste any time before he's turning away and tugging his own pants down.

"Here? Now?" Chris wasn't quite that prepared... but the sight of that little white ass being exposed- yeah, he can get on board. He's grown to appreciate the sight of Orange's body in the way a woman's rack used to catch his attention. He can't rightly recall the last time he'd looked at a woman. Seems like he's only got eyes for Orange and denim. "Give the Demo God a piece of that Denim Slob..." he thinks the line is funny, in his head, but once the words are out he regrets them. Can't take them back though, so he rolls with it and places his hands on those hips, legs his thumbs stroke little circles over flesh. "Not much room here, though. Should we wait til we get home?"

Orange responds by turning and pawing at Chris, almost vicious as he attacks the larger wrestler's pants and works them open. Orange's hand slips into Jericho's underwear and pulls out the infamous Jericobra and gives it a few enticing strokes like it is something marvelous and worthy of worship. Orange strokes and tugs and his thumb circles the head, and then he brings his mouth in to puff warm wet breath over it and then he goes down on it like a pornstar, bare ass in the air and pants bunched up around his knees.

Chris watches, enticed and amazed and strangely fond of the other man while he's being worked into arousal. It takes a little work, but he gets there, and then Orange is climbing onto his lap, and-

"Whoa, slow down... Let me do some of the work here. It's not just your first time, Juicy. It's for both of us..."

Orange is already red-faced and out of breath. He doesn't want to slow down. He shoulders his way out of his jacket and drops it onto the seat beside them. His shirt comes off next. He can't breathe. Too hot and too excited. He's going to get some honest to goodness fucking from his man. He needs it like he needs an annual flu shot. Maybe more.

Chris doesn't have a lot of wiggle-room, but he works the remaining buttons of his own shirt open and completely removes his own pants and underwear- it's a struggle with Orange refusing to leave his lap, but it gets done, and finally there are no barriers between himself and this amazing creature he's come to adore. He places his hands on Orange's pale hips and slips on back, searching for that hole he knows will need prep-work, but he doesn't have any lube, and-

"I took care of it," Orange grabs Chris's hand to stop his actions. He's more than prepared. Pre-stretched and all slicked up, hungry and needy, and likely to cry if he doesn't get his brains fucked out soon. He positions himself over Chris's massive meat and uses his hand to guide it to his entrance. Once lined up, the tip slips in, and... he sinks down. Slow. And the strangled sound that comes out of him is downright beautiful.

A sexy death rattle, if such a thing exists.

Chris groans in appreciation as the tight heat envelopes and swallows him down. Then, when Orange lifts his hips, that harsh pull...

There's not enough slick. Not enough lube. The slow drag is a little dry, but it's not unbearable. Not perfect, but it's something they can build on. Chris needs to do something other than sit there and be ridden. He's hot and hard and getting horny at the sight of a breathless Orange moving up and down on his lap, that tight ass sucking him in and spitting him back out with a slow burning grind.

Chris's hands go to Orange's shoulders first, then drop to his slim but defined pecs, thumbs over the nipples, and then absently explores the expansion of skin presented before him. He ends up with one hand on the back of Orange's neck while the other finds Orange's dick.

Orange is a shuddering, studder-breathed mass that's gradually losing stamina, and Chris decides to pick up the slack. He's not as careful as he should be when he manhandles Orange to lie across the back seat so he himself is on top. The angle isn't great and there really isn't room for this, but he's able to properly thrust and drive himself in there at his own pace while he jerks Cassidy off.

He keeps his eyes open, watching, needing to see the spectacle that is a sweaty, horny, beautiful Orange. He picks up the pace, pushes deeper, pounds that ass like it's his job, chases his own orgasm while trying to get Orange off as well.

Orange leans up from his prone position to pepper sloppy loose kisses on his man, to show how much this means to him. Because he's waited so long and the feeling of Chris inside him is... warm, full, punishing in ways he's needed for so long. It's a spiritual event, and he wants it to last for as long as possible. "H-Harder..." he wheezes the word through tight vocal cords.

And Chris complies, pulls back and shoves in with a sharp, controlled thrust. "That good?"

"Again..."

"J-Bear's got you, Juicebox." He keeps it up, even when his back is a little sore and his thighs are cramping, and they really should not be fucking in a limo. They need a bed or a floor or a wall or a nice large shower, or- anywhere. He doesn't care where. It's just too good to finally get his dick in there, and he's not sure why he was so hung up about it before. He pumps and pistons and grinds, and he even leans in to give the other man a proper kiss.

Orange's moans are as melodic as they are loud. It's an unexpectedly wonderful sound that Chris can't get enough of. He hammers himself in, drawing out as many of those noises as he can. Admittedly, he gets a little too enthusiastic.

Orange tries to say something but the words don't register, and then Chris is shoving his fingers into that mouth because he kind of liked that feeling before. He makes Orange gag and choke around his fingers while he gives the man's dick a sloppy handjob and puts most of his focus on tearing up that ass like it's a gift for him to rip open. When he cums, he's breathless and panting and sated in a way he's never been. He draws his hands away and pulls out of Orange Cassidy.

The hand that had been in Orange's mouth is sticky-wet with slick saliva and mucus. He should wipe it clean on something, but that will have to wait because... Orange is laying there, unsatisfied.

Still hard. Looking a little put-off.

The slighter man is literally laying there with his arms crossed like he's disappointed.

"A little quick, for Le Champion..."

Chris would have a comeback, but why should he? He thought it was good. Then again, when he glances down at himself, and then doubles back to look at Oranges thighs... there's blood. Of course there's blood. But it looks like a lot more than he expected.

"Did I hurt you?" He feels bad and inattentive. He should have noticed if something went wrong. He thought-

"No. But I still wanna get off. You mind?" The way he asks, so casual, like it's no big deal...

It reminds Chris of the number of times Orange would just stand there and wait for Chris to tie his shoe.

Chris doesn't even have to think on it. Because he doesn't mind. At least, behind closed doors, he doesn't. "How do you want it?"

"Surprise me."

"Can I get you on all fours?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It sucks, I know! Nice comments please. It's my birthday!


	12. AUTHOR'S NOTE

Updates will come but I haven't had time and the mindset to write. For this I apologize.

-In an almost ironic twist, if anyone else IS writing and feeling charitable, I have requests. 

Currently looking for stories or oneshots that ship:

Darby x Anyone (Or Darby x Cody. The word 'daddy' has been tossed around by both Darby and Cody. Darby said he wasn't going to call Cody 'daddy' and at for Full Gear, Cody said he's been Darby's daddy more than once.)

Ricky x Taz (He called Taz 'papa' on Dark- and don't you forget it!)

Luther x Serpentico 

Fuego x Anyone/Everyone

Alan V Angels and Pres10


	13. Chapter Comms?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> N/A

Life is busy/complicated.

I do art commissions with negotiable prices.

Currently willing to write oneshot comms too, if I know the characters well enough.

Comment here or DM me on Discord or Twitter.


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